Not Fade Away
by Max Alleyne
Summary: Her face was an unrecognizable mass of bruises. Yes, Sirius would be proud of the fight she put up. HG/SB
1. Cycles

**Author's Note: **So, this is my first foray into Harry Potter fanfic, and into Hermione/Sirius. This being the case, I would absolutely love some feedback, because I know that people do feel strongly about this fandom, and I want people to enjoy what I write. Hopefully, you'll enjoy, and please, please, please (a thousand times, please) review!! =)

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There are plenty of ways to hurt a person without using magic—using a curse or some sort of magical aid was just a bonus. Voldemort might have been gone, but his supporters—the ones that weren't captured and put in Azkaban—were still trying to get their revenge, and taking great delight it in when they did. After the Battle of Hogwarts, they scattered and it seemed that they were gone. But instead, they gained a following—mostly people who just wanted an excuse to inflict pain on another living being. The Aurors were immensely talented, but they weren't superhuman, and there were always those few that managed to slip between the cracks. And the ones that slipped between the cracks helped others slip between the bars of Azkaban.

"Everyone has a breaking point. It's just a matter of pushing hard enough," Yaxley said, clearly delighted at his apparent stroke of luck. After all, it isn't every day that one gets the chance to meet the best friend of Harry Potter, let alone torture her. And his mind was overflowing with all the wonderful ways he could push her beyond her breaking point.

Hermione sat in the corner of the room—if it could even be called a room; it was more like a cell—unable to move thanks to a rather strategic body-bind curse. Mentally, she was berating herself for being so careless as to let herself get caught. Well, she didn't exactly let herself get caught—she had put up a damn good fight—but she was still there nonetheless. Her right eye was swelling shut, and blood trickled from her split lip. Everything ached—her feet, her hands, her head…and she knew that it was only going to get worse.

"Don't forget that we do have to get information out of her. If she goes batty before we get what we need, this has been for nothing," another voice answered. Hermione couldn't see his face, but the voice was faintly familiar. She wasn't entirely sure where she had heard it before, so she started thinking over all the Death Eaters she had ever come in contact with, trying to remember which ones were free and which ones were dead. Before she could get very far, Yaxley hit her with a Crusiatus curse, and she was unable to think through the haze of pain.

She had only experienced the Cruciatus curse once before—back at the Malfoy Manner during what she now called the Dark Age—but it seemed worse than she remembered it. The pain was overwhelming and all-encompassing. The pain was sharp and yet somehow indescribable. It was searing hot, and then icy cold. It never stopped or got any weaker, but the pain instead seemed to increase the longer the curse went on. Perhaps if she could just scream…but she couldn't move.

Finally, after an eternity, relief came. The pain ebbed away, and she was left in a limp, boneless heap on the cold floor of her cell. Even breathing hurt—each breath brought a new, sharper pain tearing through her chest. Salty tears were streaming down her cheeks, stinging the dozens of tiny cuts on her face. She closed her eyes and tried to put herself somewhere else, because if she were somewhere else, she could _think. _If she were somewhere else, she wouldn't be in this kind of pain, and she would be able to think clearly. But no amount of imagination could put her anywhere other than where she was.

"Not that I'm not enjoying myself, but remind me again why we're not just using Veritaserum?" Yaxley asked, a wicked grin on his face as he studied Hermione.

"Because whoever made the last batch did it wrong, and it killed the bloke, remember?" the other one answered. Hermione listened carefully, trying to discern any sort of clue as to where she was being held. She tried using a silent summoning spell to get her wand back, but for whatever reason, she couldn't. They probably have spells in place to keep me from doing it, she thought through the haze of pain. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to take off that body-bind curse. It just isn't the same when you can't watch them flail about."

She heard steps of someone coming across the room to her, and pulled her eyes open to study them. The face before her was one that she would never forget, no matter how aged. She was staring into the eyes of Antonin Dolohov—the bastard who had killed Remus. His eyes were dark and empty, as if he had never had any compassion for another human being. There was no lively, playful spark in them that she was used to seeing in her friends. Instead, they were cold and calculating—calculating how best to make her talk. She couldn't suppress a shiver.

"Well, you look lovely, Miss Granger. The bruised and battered look works well for you. Now, as I'm sure you heard me tell my associated, I need some information from you. But first, I thought that maybe we could become better acquainted—"

She spat in his face.

At first, he looked enraged, and Hermione was afraid that he would kill her then and there. But after a moment, he regained his composure, and grinned at her. It was a sick, twisted grin that didn't quite reach all the way to his eyes. This grin was more terrifying by far than the look of rage that she had seen, for in that grin, she saw his capacity to be cruel. He was actually looking forward to the challenge, looking forward to seeing just how far he could push Hermione Granger before one of two things happened: she died, or she broke. Either way, he was clearly excited about the opportunity.

"Thank you, Miss Granger, for the opportunity to be a part of this. I hate that I wasn't there to watch your experience the first time around, but I was otherwise occupied."

She gritted her teeth, bracing herself for the pain. She waited and waited, and still it never came. Instead, she felt hands that were almost gentle—almost—working at the buttons at the front of her shirt, his intentions infinitely clear. Immediately, she jerked violently away, kicking at him, trying to keep him at a distance. She got in a few good kicks and several solid hits before the all-powerful pain of the Cruciatus curse was overtaking her again. In those moments of weakness afterwards, he pulled her shirt open. She started to twist and roll on the floor, anything to keep him from touching her. It wasn't until Yaxley helped to hold her down were they able to get her still.

"You've got some fight in you. Good, that always makes it more fun," Dolohov said, his voice low and seductive, as if talking to a lover. As he pushed up her skirt, she clenched her thighs tightly together, desperate to keep him from getting what he wanted. Pushing on a pressure point in her thighs, he was able to part them as she shrieked with pain.

She knew that she couldn't stop it, despite her efforts. She continued to fight, still jerking against her captors, still trying to hurt them in any way, shape, or form, but it was obvious that she was going to be unsuccessful. In her mind, she started to try to think of anything she could to keep her from what was happening to her.

Wingardium Leviosa _is the levitation charm that is usually the first spell taught to first year students at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. _Accio _is a summoning spell, which Harry used in the Tri-Wizard Tournament to fight the dragon_. Expelliarmus _is a disarming spell that is quite useful when fighting a wizard duel. _Stupefy _is a stunning spell that is not all useful on blast-ended skrewts unless it strikes them in the soft underbelly. _Expecto Patronum _produces a Patronus Charm…_

No amount of spells could keep her from feeling it. She felt dirty and disgusting and low—and it wasn't a feeling that was going to fade any time soon. Her hips ached from being pressed against the rough concrete floor. Her wrists ached from Yaxley's unrelenting grip, thought it was nothing compared to the other pains in her body. Dolohov hadn't bothered to be gentle with her, and each of his movements brought with it a new wave of pain. She clenched her fists, determined to keep from crying out—though that resolution was broken very quickly.

"Please," she whispered. "Please stop." The words escaped her mouth before she had a chance to think of what she had said. She wasn't the begging type. No, she was Hermione Granger, and she had dignity…except that right now, she just wanted it all to stop. And for a the briefest of moments, he did stop. But just when she started to feel relief, he started moving once again—this time with more force than before.

"Please," she asked again. "Please…you didn't even ask me a question…"

And then time started to move very strangely for Hermione. She ceased to judge time based on minutes and hours and days and weeks, because those were not important anymore. Instead, everything was judged on her torture. They developed a cycle: Cruciatus curse, beating, rap—no, she couldn't think of it—and then they would get creative. They used everything: pins, needles, pliers, wands, potions. Then, once they had gone through the cycle, they repeated it. She might have slept sometime in there, but she wasn't sure. If she had, it wasn't doing any good, because she was just as tired at the beginning of one cycle as she was at the end.

At first, she tried to make it stop—hitting, screaming, kicking—only to be held down. Then, she tried to find her escape—reciting spells, potion recipes, ancient runes—only to find that the pain kept her from completely retreating. Finally, after several cycles, she stopped responding all together. She just lie still in the floor of the cell, staring at the puddles of blood on the floor—her blood—in silence.

"She's not responding anymore. You broke her," Yaxley whispered, annoyed at the failure.

"No…She's not broken. Not yet. She'll tell me what I want to know," Dolohov answered. Yaxley looked skeptical. "She fears death…we just have to convince her that this is it, that she's really dying and we can save her. Then she'll tell us what we want to know."

"But you haven't even asked the question yet!"

Dolohov crossed the room and kneeled beside Hermione, who looked completely different from the woman he had taken off the street. Her blouse was gone, her skirt stained and tattered. Her hair—which had been in a neat French twist—was now matted with blood and filth. Her face was an unrecognizable mass of bruises. He smiled, proud of his handiwork.

"Hermione…you're not doing very well—"

She cut him off. "I'm dying. And you still haven't…asked your damn question. This has all been… for fun, hasn't it?" As the words left her mouth, she started to think of everyone that she was leaving behind. Harry and Ron would be crushed. They tried so hard to keep their families, which included her, safe. Her parents would be devastated to lose their only child to dark wizards after she helped to defeat the greatest one in history. The Weaselys...would her funeral be at the Burrow? Were they even going to return her body?

But then, maybe it wasn't so bad. The pain would stop, and she would know people. Remus and Tonks would be there with welcoming words, as always. And Dumbledore, with his kind-hearted smile. Snape would probably lament that a know-it-all had invaded his space, but he would learn to share. And Sirius...she was undecided about Sirius. He was a fighter. Even now, she could hear his voice in her ears, yelling at her, telling her to fight. She could see the exhilarated look that he got during battle, and wondered if she had that same look on her face right then. After all, she was going to win. She might die, but they still wouldn't know whatever they were going to ask...Yes, Sirius would be proud of the fight she put up.

"I can save you—"

"But you won't. I'm not telling…anything…" she gasped.

Dolohov shrugged. "Fine then. Any last wishes?"

_Someone…please, someone has to help me…make it stop, please…someone, please…hear me…_she thought.

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Ten minutes later, a janitor found a man pacing the corridors of the Department of Mysteries claiming to be Sirius Black.


	2. Contacts

**Note from the Author:** A huge, HUGE thank-you to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, and alerted. I hope that you continue to enjoy the story. I know that some elements are not entirely cannon, but this is fanfic. I will do my best to explain everything in due time, but until then, please bear with me. Anyway, feedback is always appreciated, and definitely looked foward to. Please review!!!

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There were several young Ministry officials standing before him, all staring at him with a combination of awe and terror. It wasn't hard to understand why they were terrified—Sirius looked worse now than he did when he escaped from Azkaban. He was skeletally skinny, and the remnants of his tattered clothes barely covered him. His hair was long and matted with blood, a long, tangled beard disguised much of his face. He was a mass of blood and bruises. He was leaning against a shelf in the Department of Mysteries, too weak to stand up on his own.

"I need to see Harry Potter. I know you know who he is. The Boy Who Lived? I need to see him!" Sirius croaked, pain tearing through his throat as he spoke. He was back, in the Department of Mysteries, and he felt like he was dying. Everything hurt, and they wouldn't let him leave. His demands to see Harry seemed to have gone in one ear and out the other. Instead of doing anything they stood there, spewing bureaucratic nonsense about needing identity verification before he could leave.

Finally, a small, frightened-looking man came in, carrying a large file that could belong to no one other than Sirius Black. He smiled humorlessly as he watched their eyes widen in shock and fear as they read through his file. The practical part of him was telling him that he needed to fight, to steal one of their wands and get the hell out of there before they sent him back to Azkaban, but he couldn't make his body cooperate with him. His brain was telling his legs to run, his arms to hit, but he can't. It's all he can do to keep standing upright.

"Mr. Black? Give us just a moment, sir, and we'll try to contact Mr. Potter for you…sir," one of the Ministry boys said, clearly terrified of Sirius, despite the recent clearing of his name. Sirius just nods, too pained and exhausted to question why the poor boy was calling him 'sir.'

Unfortunately for Sirius, Harry Potter wasn't the type to be caught up in bureaucratic red tape, which means that he wasn't in his office doing paperwork as one would expect of a department head—even if it was the head of the Auror Office. He was, apparently, out in the field. The aide that had to tell Sirius this looked almost petrified with terror. Had he not been so damn worn out, Sirius probably would have found the whole situation amusing. But the fact of the matter was, he was worn out, he was in pain, and he wanted to get the hell out of there.

"I'm sorry, sir, but Mr. Potter seems to be out in the field. We are working as quickly as possible to contact him for you. In the mean time, is there anyone else that we could contact?"

"Remus Lupin," Sirius answered. If anyone could clear up his questions, it was Remus. Moony was the go-to guy for answers, and that was just what Sirius needed at the moment.

As soon as the words crossed his lips, everyone froze. After the Battle of Hogwarts, Remus Lupin and Nyphadora Tonks had become heroes who died fighting for the cause. Their story was now written into history books. But Sirius didn't know this, and none of the Ministry officials wanted to tell him. They began looking back and forth at each other, wondering which one of them was going to have to deliver more bad news. Finally, a young woman stepped forward.

"Sir, Remus Lupin and his wife were killed at the Battle of Hogwarts. I'm so very sorry for your loss," she said gently.

Sirius's knees buckled, unable to support his weight. The excitement of being back had kept him standing upright—though just barely—until now, when grief brought him to his knees. Remus, the final marauder, was dead and gone. Remus, who had fought for him, who had taken care of Harry when he couldn't, who would go the ends of the earth for his friends, was gone. He was never going to joke with Moony anymore. He didn't even have the strength for tears. Instead, he stared up at the woman with dead, empty eyes.

"How?"

"During the battle, the ceiling collapsed. He used his body to shield some of the students who had been fighting, but he…he saved their lives," she answered, trying to comfort him. "Is there anyone else you would like for me to call?"

There was only one more person he could think of that was equally as knowledgable about everything under the sun. Her name rolled easily off his lips. "Hermione Granger."

The young woman nodded and left the room. He sat still and quiet, staring at the veil that had taken too many years of his life. He could hear the voices coming from beyond, calling oh-so-softly, tempting him, begging him to return. It was beckoning him like a lover. But the gentle calls were deceptive. Beyond the veil, rest did not await him. There was no peace for him there. Instead, there had been pain. Unbearable, unendurable pain that pushed him call out for someone, anyone to help him…

"Mr. Black, Ms. Granger is not in her office, but if you'll follow me, Mr. Potter has arriv—"

"Sirius?" He knows the voice, and it lends him strength. The excitement, the love, but above all, the hope in his godson's voice give him the strength to push himself to his feet. He isn't even all the way upright before Harry's arms are around him, holding him up and holding him close at the same time. Harry holds him at arm's length, looking him over, making sure it's really him. At seeing Sirius's wounds, his face falls.

"God, Sirius you look like hell…let's get you home. You can rest and get cleaned up." Harry looked over to the other Ministry workers who had been standing, watching the whole scene with a mix of shock and nostalgia. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?" he asked the young woman.

"He asked for Ms. Hermione Granger, but she isn't in her office. Her secretary said that she hasn't been in for three days," she answered. Harry froze, and Sirius felt him tense up.

"She hasn't come in for three days? Did she owl in to say why?" Harry demanded tersely.

"I don't believe so. They said they didn't know where she was, or why she was out."

Harry looked at Sirius, who could see the fear in his godson's eyes. They both knew that was incredibly uncharacteristic of Hermione, and Sirius knew that Harry wouldn't be worried without good reason. He didn't know what was going on, but he sure as hell knew it wasn't good.

"I need you to call Ron Weasley. Tell him it's an emergency and to meet me at our old headquarters," Harry said quickly, guiding Sirius out of the room. The young woman followed behind him.

"Your old headquarters?"

"He'll understand. Do it now." And with that, they stepped outside the Ministry of Magic and into downtown London. Stepping into a deserted alley, Harry looked Sirius over once more. "Are you up for side-along aparation?"

Sirius nodded and held tightly to his godson's arm. There was a popping sound, a feeling of discomfort and jarring, and then he was standing in the hallway of number twelve Grimmauld Place. He wasn't standing there long, though, before his legs buckled beneath him. Harry caught him before he hit the floor. Together, they made their way to a couch, where Sirius was finally able to rest.

"What's going on, Harry?" he asked. He knew that Harry would have told him about it on his own shortly, but he needed a distraction from the different pains in his body.

"Ron and I have been tracking a group of Death Eaters who seem to be out for revenge. They were smart enough to wait until the whole situation settled down, and now they're slowly starting to come after Order members. We thought that we had Hermione stashed somewhere safe, but I guess she—"

"You tried to keep her out of the fight?" Sirius asked, disbelievingly. "She's not the type, Harry, and she can fight."

"Well, yes, but…we had hoped that…anyway, my guess is that she didn't stay in. She wouldn't want to let the Death Eaters—"

"Control her," Sirius finished. Harry nodded. He opened his mouth to speak again, but was stopped by the sound of a loud pop that always accompanies apparating. Ron stood before them, bruised and disheveled. Upon seeing Sirius, he froze.

"Sirius? Bloody hell! Where'd you come from, mate?"

"The head of the Department of Mysteries said that he just appeared this morning, demanding to see me. But, Ron, we've got other problems—"

"What is it?" Ron asked, wondering what could possibly be more important than Sirius's re-arrival.

"Hermione's gone. Her secretary said she hasn't come to work in three days, and no one knows where she is or why she's gone," Harry said tersely. Ron paled and swore violently.

"You think—"

"That's the only logical explanation. Whatever it is these Death Eaters want, they're taking it from Hermione," Harry answered.

"Do we have any clues about where they could have taken her?" Sirius asked. The two younger men stared at him in disbelief.

"We? Yes, we do. But you're not coming, Sirius. You're hurt, and you're clearly exhausted," Harry said, his voice authoritative. Sirius shook his head, remembering their first ordeal at the Department of Mysteries. Hermione had come to help him when she believed that he was in trouble.

"No. I can fight—"

"Sirius, you're really not in any shape," Ron began.

"She came with you when you believed I was in trouble. I have to do the same for her," Sirius said. And that settled the matter.

Harry quietly went to a cabinet in the corner of the living room, and pulled out a box, which he handed to Sirius. Dust was caked on the lid, showing that no one had opened the box in quite some time. It was a box of rich, black ebony, intricately carved with images of dogs running, chasing each other. Opening the lid, he found his wand laying inside on a bed of velvet. He took it into his hands and felt warmth spread through his fingers and up his arm, filling his body.

"Ready?" Harry asked.

Sirius nodded grimly and took Harry's arm, preparing for more disapparating. There was that familiar pop, the jerk, and the disorientation of finding oneself in an entirely new and different place than you had been just a moment before. Now, they stood outside an old brick house. The outside was overgrown with vines and weeds, and looked deserted. But they all knew that looks could be deceiving. Looking over at one another, they headed towards the house.

"Alright, then," Sirius whispered. "Let's go."


	3. Can I Rest Now?

**Author's Note:** A huge thank you once again to everyone who reviewed/alerted/favorited. The support is awesome! Here's another chapter. I hope you enjoy, and please review!!

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Sirius started moving towards the front door, not at all concerned about stealth or sneakiness. Then again, being quiet and stealthy took a certain amount of strength and control over one's muscles—something that Sirius didn't have in his weakened state. Before he could give away their position, Harry and Ron stopped him.

"Wait. We can't just go in through the front door. There's only three of us, and if they know we're coming they'll kill Hermione," Harry whispered urgently. "Ron, you check around the back of the house. Look in any windows, see what you can see."

"We've got to hurry. If they have Hermione, God only knows that they've done to her already. We don't have time to be cautious," Sirius answered. Ron was gone before the objection was completely out of his mouth, as was Harry. He sighed in frustration.

Harry and Ron had never seen firsthand the immense cruelty that the Death Eaters could inflict upon a person. They had never seen Frank and Alice Longbottom after what his cousin had done to them. They had never seen the perfect way that a Death Eater could peel a person's skin away or open their ribcage so that they still had to suffer for hours or days until they finally died. They may have been aurors now, but they had the luxury of being too young to remember the true dark ages. They had never seen empty eyes without the spark of life in a still-breathing human being. The idea of Hermione being like that didn't sit well with him. She was always so alive, such a bright spark of know-it-all attitude. No, he wasn't going to let her become another unresponsive patient in St. Mungo's.

"They're in a room in the middle of the house. No windows. Just one entrance, but the door is open. I could see Yaxley and Dolohov through the open door, but I couldn't see anyone else. I didn't see Hermione. Did you see anything?" Ron said quietly.

"I didn't see anything in the front except a broken window. We can slip in quietly that way. You take Yaxley, I'll take Dolohov. Sirius, you get Hermione and get out. We'll meet you back at headquarters," Harry directed, his voice calm and authoritative.

"And what if you need help? If I'm back at the house, I can't help you," Sirius protested.

"And if you get yourself killed, you can't help us or Hermione, who needs it more than all of us. Once you've got her, we're all getting out. Can you get her?"

Sirius nodded. Harry went in first through the window, then Sirius with Ron bringing up the rear. They crept silently down the halls, walking lightly on the balls of their feet. They stopped down the hallways from the room, all looking at each other for confirmation that they were ready to go on. Sirius couldn't help the grim grin on his face. Adrenaline was tearing through his veins, his heart pounding, itching for a fight. Harry asked the question with his expression. _Are you ready_? Sirius nodded.

Then, they quickly made their way down the hall and tore into the room, wands blazing. Hermione was lying in the corner, her small feet were bare and bleeding, her hair tangled and fallen in her face. Her bloodstained clothes were torn or missing, revealing more bruises. They were everywhere, all varying shades of blue-black and yellow-green. She was completely motionless, not even responding to the noise of the fight going on around her. He made his way to her as quickly as he could, dodging curses and hexes along the way.

She wasn't moving, but there was still pain—stabbing, blinding, white-hot pain. She wanted to run from the pain, to get as far away from it as possible, but she couldn't make her legs move. She couldn't make anything move. She called for help in her head, but no one came. The only thing she could do was lie still and breathe and try to think of something other than how much she hurt. She couldn't even open her eyes.

Someone was shaking her. No, she wasn't going to open her eyes. She wasn't going to look at them anymore. It hurt to see the emptiness in his eyes and to know that he was getting pleasure out of her pain. It hurt her to know that any human being was capable of hurting another the way that she had been hurt. But she had to look at him. She couldn't give him the pleasure of thinking that he had broken her. So she forced her eyes open for what she hoped would be the last time.

A face swam in and out of focus above her. When her vision cleared, the first thing she noticed were his eyes. Deep-set black eyes that had seen all the emotions of the world. These eyes had seen everything—from the most priceless joys to the deepest despairs. She see lines around the eyes—they had laughed. She knew those eyes. They could only belong to one person.

"Sirius?" she whispered through cracked lips. He smiled gently at her. Help. Help had come. She had been hoping for Harry or Ron—someone who could save her life. Even as she had braced herself for death, told herself that it was the next adventure, she had hoped to live. But at least this way the pain would stop. And she could see Remus again. And Tonks and Fred. She'd probably get along famously with Lily… "Are going to take me away?"

"Yeah," he answered, sliding his hands under her, lifting her gently into his arms. She pulled away from him violently, which was the most movement he had seen out of her since he set foot in the room. However, it wasn't a good sign. Between the torn clothes and the skirt hiked up around her waist, he knew what had happened to her, and he felt his blood begin to boil. But then she spoke, and he felt his heart break for her, for the pain she'd been through. The pain that was so similar to that which he had experienced so recently.

"Does this mean the pain will stop?" she asked, relief in her voice. Sirius was here for her. He was going to take her away from the pain. She could see lights behind him—beautiful flashes of light. Yes, the pain was going to stop. She relaxed in his arms and let herself feel safe. She let herself be comforted by his nearness. Sirius wouldn't hurt her.

"Yes. I'm going to take you away from the pain." She smiled when she heard his answer. It was reassuring. It made giving in to the darkness just a little bit easier.

"Does this mean I can rest now?"

"Soon," he said. "Soon you'll be able to rest. The pain will stop and you can rest."

"Sirius…I called for help, and you came. You came for me." Tears of relief were trickling down her cheeks. She won. She didn't tell them anything—even if they had never asked any question. She had won.

"Well, we couldn't just leave you here. Now hang on. This could be a bit rough," he told her. He turned towards the wall, shielding her from a curse with his body. She was too out of it to notice that they were curses flying around her. Instead, she closed her eyes and reveled in the feel of being safe in Sirius's arms. He was taking her away.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, desperate to know of something of where she was going. Sirius broke the threshold of the room where she had been held, taking her out into the hallway and away from the flying curses. He heard Harry cry out, and had to check the urge to run and help his godson. But if he did that, he would be putting Hermione in danger, and there was no way she could fend for herself. She would be as good as dead if he left her alone.

"Someplace safe. Somewhere where no one will hurt you anymore. You'll be safe there."

"You promise?" she asked, closing her eyes.

"I promise. But you can't go back to sleep. You can't close your eyes. You have to stay awake, okay? Can you do that for me?" His voice was pleading, begging her to stay awake. He knew that she was in pain, God knows he knew. He had been in that kind of pain for the past—he wasn't even sure how long he had been gone. So he knew just how much she wanted to close her eyes and slip away. But he wasn't going to let her.

"Why? I just want to let go—"

"I know you do. But Harry and Ron would be really upset with me if I let you go."

"W-what?" she gasped, realizing for the first time that maybe Sirius wasn't the angel of death. "Harry and Ron?"

"They're in there fighting for you, trying to get you free. We're going to get you back to Grimmauld Place and patch you up. I promise."

"I-I thought you had…I thought I was dy—"

"Shhh. Don't even say that. You're not dying on my watch. Now hold on tight, okay? This is the first time I've apparated in a while," Sirius told her with a grin. She felt the strange sensation that comes with apparating—made stronger and more painful by her current injuries—and then they were on the front step of Sirius's house. He pushed open the front door and set her down gently on the sofa. As soon as he put her down, she wanted to be in his arms again. She was safe there.

"You're back?"

"I'm really back. I'm not going far; I'm just going to go get you a glass of water. I'll be right back," he explained, trying to reassure her that he wasn't going to leave her there alone again. She nodded weakly and closed her eyes. "No, Hermione. You've got to keep those eyes open. Just until we can get you looked at, okay?"

"But I'm so tired…"

"Stay awake just a little bit longer," he called from the kitchen. He quickly returned with a glass of water, only to find that she couldn't hold it. Her fingernails were gone, replaced with torn, bloody flesh. Gently, he propped her up so that she could take a sip of water. Despite his attempt at gentleness, he was still clumsy—a result of his weakened state—and she cried out in pain. Guilt tore through him at causing her any further pain. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault…you didn't do this to me."

"No, but…I'm sorry you had to go through it. Is there anything else you need me to do?"s

"No…I would like a bath, but…maybe later. I'm too tired." She was barely able to force the words past her lips. The darkness was calling her, and she very much wanted to give in, to let herself go. But Sirius was right there. He had worked so hard to get her out. He had saved her, kept her alive, and she wasn't going to let him down now.

"Sirius?"

"Hmm?"

"Will you…will you hold me?" she asked. Her voice sounded so small and so unsure, something that he had never imagined he would have heard from her. But that's how it was. She needed comfort, and he couldn't deny her that. Not when he knew what it was to need that same comfort. So instead, he climbed onto the couch and pulled her gently into his arms. Again, he didn't miss her cry of pain, but her sigh of relief when he slid his arms around her was enough to bring lessen his frown to a grim, straight expression.

"You're going to be okay," he said, running his fingers gently over her matted hair. She nodded numbly, and they sat there in silence for several long moments, waiting for Harry and Ron to arrive. Finally, she couldn't stand the silence any longer.

"You know…they never even asked me any questions," she whispered, tears sliding down her cheeks. "Not a single one."

Sirius clenched his jaw tightly, biting back curses. "Well, they won't have that chance anymore. Not anymore. You're safe now."


	4. Hogwarts

**Author's Note:** Thanks so much for the feedback! I'm glad that you're enjoying the story. Here is another chapter for your reading pleasure. Please review!!!

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When Harry and Ron returned to number twelve Grimmauld Place forty-five minutes later, Sirius was still sitting on the sofa, cradling a sleeping Hermione in his arms. Hermione was still dirty and blood covered; her bruises stood out dramatically against her pale skin. Neither of them had ever thought of her being fragile, but she looked it right now. Right now, she was fragile.

"I didn't get a chance to gauge the extent of the damage," Sirius whispered. "She's in a lot of pain, though."

"We're trained to dress wounds in the field until we can get back to an expert. We should get her to a healer—" Sirius cut Harry off before he could say what they all knew was coming. St. Mungo's.

"She was terrified, Harry. Imagine what waking up in St. Mungo's is going to do to her. She's going to wake up in an unfamiliar place, in pain. She's going to think that she's back in that…place all over again. She'll be terrified," Sirius said, his voice sharper than he intended.

"She needs help that we can't give her. A hospital is our best option—"

"Isn't there someone you can call? You're Ministry, isn't there someone that you go to when you get hurt?"

"That would be St. Mungo's," Ron piped up, trying to stop the beginning of a potential argument. "But there's always…there's Madame Pomfrey. Hogwarts was like home to her. We could take her to Hogwarts."

The three men looked at each other and then down at the sleeping woman in Sirius's arms. They needed to get her to a healer. St. Mungo's wasn't a good idea because, as much as they hated to admit it, Sirius was right. If Hermione woke up in a strange place, in pain, she was going to panic and it was going to set back her chances of any sort of mental recovery. Hogwarts was their best option.

"Okay," Harry said, relenting. Sirius stood very slowly, cradling Hermione in his arms, trying his best not to disturb her or cause her any further pain. He heard a very low moan cross her lips, telling them that she was awake. "Hermione?"

"H-Harry?" she asked, her voice scratchy and painful to listen to.

"And Ron," Ron chimed in, making sure he wasn't forgotten.

"We're going to take you to Hogwarts, to see Madame Pomfrey. She's going to take care of you," Harry explained. Hermione nodded—a tiny, barely perceptible nod—in response, her throat too sore to speak. "We just wanted to tell you so that you're not scared when you wake up there, okay?" Again, there was that tiny nod in response. Sirius felt her tighten her grip on the front of his shirt just the tiniest bit. "Alright. We'll apparate to the front gate and walk to the castle from there."

Sirius and Ron nodded, knowing that it was the best plan they had. Broom travel would be faster from the front gates, but they couldn't risk trying to steer a broom and worry about Hermione at the same time, and she sure as hell couldn't fly herself. Sirius braced himself for apparation once again, and hoped the Hermione was up for it, too. Then there was the familiar pop, the odd sensation, and he was standing at the front gates of Hogwarts. Hermione was crying in his arms again—the sensation was only odd and slightly uncomfortable to him, but to her…it was excruciating. He tried to push his guilt to the back of his mind—to remind himself that he was helping her—but it didn't lessen the feeling.

"We're almost there," Sirius whispered to her, trying to soothe her. He felt her try to draw closer to him. He was the one thing that she was sure of—the one person who had laid hands on her and didn't hurt her. He was a port in the storm, and she was in desperate need of shelter.

They moved as quickly as they could across the grounds, but running was impossible given Hermione's condition. The hills and rocks made things more difficult, but they made it. But the hundreds of stairs inside the building might as well have been Mount Everest. Sirius pushed forward, forced himself to keep moving until he was physically unable to go any further. He sat down on the landing of the stairs before he could lose his balance and drop his charge.

"Sirius? Are you alright?" Harry asked, crouching beside his godfather. It was only then that he noticed the large dark circles under his eyes. Sirius was exhausted, and not just from carrying Hermione.

"I'm so tired…give me a minute and I'll be fine," he whispered, reluctant to admit just how weak he was. He wasn't ready to give her up yet. She trusted him to get her to safety, and he was going to finish the job. He was going to get her to the hospital wing.

"I can take her," Ron offered.

"No, I've got her," he answered, pulling himself to his feet and continuing on. They pushed on, only to be met by Professor McGonagall at the top of the last flight. She looked concerned, and upon seeing Hermione, didn't even bother to ask questions. Instead, she opened doors, making way to the hospital wing.

"Poppy!" she called. "Poppy!"

Madame Pomfrey emerged from her office, ready for action. However, upon seeing Hermione—small and dirty and bundled in Sirius's coat—she gasped. This wasn't anything that she had seen in a long time. Not since the Dark Ages. Not since the Battle of Hogwarts when she had watched students and professors alike perish at the hands of Death Eaters.

"What happened?" she asked, pushing everything into the furthest recesses of her mind and getting to work with what was in front of her. Sirius set Hermione on the nearest bed, but she wouldn't let him go. She had his hand in a white-knuckled grip and had no intentions of letting go of him. Madame Pomfrey eyed him questioningly, but he only shrugged. She nodded and got to work, pulling Sirius's coat from around Hermione and saw more of the damage.

"_Scourgify_," she whispered. The blood and grime disappeared from Hermione's skin, leaving it clear just how hurt she really was. Madame Pomfrey noticed the bruising pattern on Hermione's legs. "Boys, you should go."

"We're not leaving her alo—"

"Gentlemen, you can wait just outside the door, but you must go. Miss Granger deserves her privacy," McGonagall insisted. Harry and Ron reluctantly left, and Sirius tried to follow suit, but she wouldn't let go of his hand.

"Stay with me," she whispered. "Please don't leave."

Hearing those words almost killed him. He had seen a lot in his life—his best friend's dead body in the smoldering ruins of his house, the soulless prisoners of Azkaban, Frank and Alice Longbottom's empty gaze, torture and torment beyond belief—but nothing compared to those words. Hermione Granger, brightest witch in her class, was begging him not to leave. She was begging _him_—broken, criminal, slightly mad Sirius Black—to stay with her. And what could he do? The only option available to him was obedience.

"I will. I'll be right here," he answered quietly, settling tiredly in a chair next to her bed.

"Hermione, I have to take the rest of your clothes. Are you sure?" Madame Pomfrey asked. Hermione nodded. It wasn't anything that he hadn't seen already during her rescue. Ever so gently, the healer removed Hermione's skirt and tattered blouse. There were large, hand-shaped bruises on her hips and thighs. She didn't say anything, but it didn't keep Sirius from noticing.

"That bastard," he swore. Anger was coursing through his veins, though he was too exhausted to act on it. He lurched out of the chair as if to move towards the door, towards an exit so that he could go find and kill the bastard who did this, but his body didn't cooperate. Instead, he toppled to the floor, his legs too weak to hold him.

"Sirius?" Hermione called, ignoring the pain in her throat when she spoke.

"Fine…" He stood and lay down in the bed next to hers so he could keep an eye on her as Madame Pomfrey finished her examination. She then handed Hermione a vial of a strange purple potion. Moments after drinking it, Hermione was unconscious.

"What happened to her?" Madame Pomfrey demanded the minute Hermione was no longer awake.

"Dolohov and Yaxley, that's what. Somehow, they kidnapped her. They tortured her…she said that they never asked her any questions, so it must have all been for fun," he replied, his voice bitter.

"She's lucky to still be sane," Pomfrey said. Sirius snorted derisively, knowing full well that this probably wasn't the case. When she woke up, she would have all the memories of what they had done to her, and they would be vivid and sharp and painful. When she woke up, she wouldn't feel lucky. She would remember the rape and feel dirty. She would remember the way that they had torn into her and feel fear. Not exactly the stuff that dreams are made of.

"They raped her, didn't they?" he asked quietly, hating himself for saying the words aloud. Poppy continued to work, administering salves and charms and fixing what she could. Some of the damage was, unfortunately, going to have to heal on its own.

"It would seem so, yes."

"You should make sure that she can't…that she isn't…"

"I know, Sirius. Unfortunately, this isn't the first time I've seen a case like this." Her voice was sad, with a tinge of anger. She looked over Hermione once more, making sure that she had done everything she could for the young woman while she was in her current state. She would force some potions down her throat in the morning, but until then, there was nothing else she could do. So, she turned to Sirius and studied him with a critical eye. He was too thin, too dirty, to exhausted. Something was wrong.

"Now, Sirius, why don't you tell me how you came to be in almost the same state Hermione is?"

He stiffened and paled further at her question. "You know, I'd really rather not." Instead, he studied Hermione, watching over her until he eventually just couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. So he let them slide shut and he entered the nightmarish world that awaited him when he slept.


	5. Getting Clean

**Author's Note: **I am so, so, so sorry about the delay. School work and other fandoms caught up with me. But thanks so much for all the reviews/alerts/favorites. Your feedback is incredible, so keep it up! Pleave review!_

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It felt as if the skin were peeling away from his body—stinging, burning. He clenched his eyes shut as tightly as he could, trying to will the pain to stop. When he finally pulled his eyes open again, he saw his skin intact and breathed a sigh of relief. Of course, it didn't last long and then the all-consuming fire was engulfing his body. He writhed against the constraints, desperately trying to get away from the pain. But nothing seemed to stop it. He bit through his tongue and blood filled his mouth. The coppery taste made him sick, but he couldn't get it back up. It was choking him. He couldn't breathe. He was going to die here…

_But that wouldn't happen, either. Because he was already dead…wasn't he? He had never remembered anything hurting like this when he was alive. But then, he wasn't sure if he even remembered being alive. How long had he been here? The days blended together. It could have been months, or years, or decades…everything was a mass of torture, and not even thoughts of happier times—of baby Harry, or those summers spend at the Potter's because he didn't want to go home—could dull the pain. _

_There was a stabbing pain in his chest, and the pain spread from that point. The world was fading away, finally…mercifully fading away…_

_"Sirius? Sirius?" _

When he woke, he expected pain—the burning, the stabbing in his chest—but it was gone. Not completely, but it wasn't the sharp, hard pain that he expected. His entire body ached, but considering everything that had happened in the past day, he wasn't surprised. He was surprised at who had woken him.

"Sirius?" Hermione asked, her voice a harsh whisper. "Are you alright?"

He sat up slowly, taking in his surroundings, reminding himself about where he was. Hogwarts, the hospital wing. Next to him, Hermione was lying in bed, covered up to her neck in a white sheet. All the white around her only made the bruises on her face that much more prominent. Her hair was still matted and disgusting—no charm could make up for a real shower—but she looked better than she had the day before.

"Yeah. I'm fine," he answered, trying to put her mind at ease. He smiled in an attempt to sell his lie—which he was certain Hermione saw right through—but it felt false. How could he smile at her and tell her that everything was fine when it was the exact opposite? He was dog-tired still and haunted by torture-filled nightmares, and he had no doubt that she would be too once Pomfrey stopped giving her the sleeping potion. "How are you feeling?"

"Better than yesterday," she croaked. Immediately, he felt guilty for asking—knowing that each word that she spoke was painful. The large hand-shaped bruises wrapping around her neck made him wish that he had skinned Yaxley and Dolohov alive. "Of course, that's not hard." She laughed half-heartedly at her attempted joke. Sirius managed a smile for her.

They were interrupted when Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall came bustling in with a billow of robes and arms full of potions. Ron and Harry followed closely on their tail, bring to mind all the times that Hermione had been in that position—waiting behind one of the professors to see if her friends were all right. She could see the anxiety on their faces, but watched as they tried to push it aside for her, not wanting her to see how much they were worried, trying to be cheerful for her.

"Morning, Hermione. Sleep well?" Ron asked loudly and slowly, as if speaking to a small child. She grinned.

"Ron, I may have been beaten, but I'm not deaf. And, I slept quite well, thank you," she answered, eyeing Sirius with a look that clearly said "I know you didn't." She was itching to ask him questions, to know what he was dreaming about, but she wouldn't. Just like she didn't want to be pushed, she wasn't going to push him. She knew that eventually, he would come clean to someone, but until he was good and ready, there was no point in trying.

"Good. How about breakfast?" Ron set a tray before her piled high with any and every breakfast food that he had ever seen her eat. He hadn't been entirely sure what she would want, or even if she would want to eat, and had gone slightly overboard with the breakfast. Hermione took the glass of juice and began to sip it in tiny sips. Each swallow was painful, and she knew that there was no way that she could handle the solid food.

"We've made arrangements for you to stay here until you're well enough to go home," Harry told her. She nodded gratefully, glad that she hadn't ended up in St. Mungo's. She had seen the inside of the place only once, and once was enough. It wasn't a place that she ever wanted to visit again. It was cold and sterile and everything that Hogwarts wasn't. Even in the hospital wing when everything was clean and bright, she didn't feel alienated like she had at during her one visit to St. Mungo's.

"You're just going to send her home when the bastards who did this are still out there somewhere?" Sirius asked sharply. He hadn't meant to snap—he knew that Harry would make the proper arrangements—but he was tired and still concerned for the tiny, fragile woman lying in the bed next to him.

"I'll make arrangements for her to have someone with her at all times," Harry replied smoothly, understanding completely his godfather's nervousness. He was nervous about having to send Hermione back to her home, especially since they still didn't know how the Death Eaters had gotten their hands on her.

"How long am I going to be here?" Hermione asked weakly, looking to Madame Pomfrey. The healer just smiled sadly and shook her head as she handed her patient a potion. Truthfully, potions would take care of most of the physical damage within the week, but it emotional trauma of this sort took much longer to heal itself. They would keep her longer than necessary, just for observation. But she wasn't about to tell this group that—not when she remembered how insistent they could be.

"We'll have to see based on your progress," Madame Pomfrey said gently, handing her several more potions to drink. One of them was to prevent pregnancy, though she knew that she would be telling Hermione what it was, she didn't want to remind her—and everyone else in the room—of the crisis she had been through. So she handed her the potion and watched in silence as her patient drank it without complaint.

"Hermione, I hate to ask, but we need to know how the Death Eaters manage to take you. Can you tell me? It's my only question, I swear, and then I'll go and let you rest," Harry said.

She was silent for a long time before answering, and when she finally did, she wouldn't look any of them in the eye. Instead, she studied her hands very carefully, as if the answer to the meaning of life were written on her palms. "I was headed back home after work on Friday, but I-I had to stop and pick some things up at the store. I had gone inside and gotten my groceries and on the way back out…they must have been waiting, because I was walking down the street—the same one I take every day—and something hit me in the head. I got a few spells off, but I was…I was so dizzy, I must have missed. Then they hit me with a stunning spell and I was…I passed out."

"What have we told you about routine, Hermione? That just makes it easier for them to know exactly when and where to fine you," Ron said, not really thinking about the words coming out of his mouth. Sirius stiffened and sat up in bed, looking threatening despite his shabby appearance. Ron turned on his heel and quickly made himself scarce. Harry shook his head at just how thick his best friend could be and followed him out.

As soon as they were gone, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and sagged back against her pillows. It didn't matter that she had slept nearly twelve hours the night before—she was aching and exhausted. Every time she looked down at her hands and arms, she saw the bruises reminding her of just what exactly had happened to her. Every time she tried to swallow, her aching throat told her just how close she had been to dying. Every time she tried to cross her legs, a twinge reminded her of what they had taken from her.

She felt dirty. When she looked down at the stark white sheets, she almost expected to find them stained with dirt and blood, just like she had been. She was dirty and tired, and she just wanted to feel _clean _again. In the bed next to her, Sirius was watching her intently—watching as she seemed so shocked at her clean, white sheets and soft pillow. It was as if she had been too long without them and having them back was alienating.

"I would like to bathe, please," Hermione whispered to Madame Pomfrey, who nodded. Immediately, she found a change of clothes for Hermione, and large fluffy towels. The prefects' bathroom would be perfect. She set everything at the foot of Hermione's bed so that she could use them when she felt up to it. Sirius continued to sit quietly and watch her.

After several moments, she stood on her own two feet. Pain radiated through her body, but it was a dull, aching pain—not the sharp, stabbing pain that she had gotten far too accustomed to during her five days of torture. The floor was freezing against her bare feet—the temperature contributing to the shock she felt. She stood there for a moment, staring down at her bare feet on the floor, marveling at the fact that they actually held her weight. Then, she began to slowly make her way towards the large, heavy doors that separated the Hospital Wing from the rest of the school.

She stood before the doors and stared at them for a long time, wondering what was waiting on the other side. Were there more people waiting outside the doors to hurt her? Of course not, this was Hogwarts. Perfectly safe Hogwarts where nothing could ever touch her. But as she stared at the door, all she could do was think of pushing it open and being hit with a spell. After several moments of standing before the door, she began to tremble. A minute later, she dropped to the floor.

Almost immediately, she heard footsteps running towards her. It was them; they were coming, they were going to take her away. Her heart began racing as she braced herself for the pain. But it never came. Instead, she felt a boney yet comforting hand on her shoulder. Peeking through her matted, dirty hair, she saw Sirius standing over, his face full of concern.

"Are you…can you walk?" he asked, knowing better than to ask if she was alright. Of course she wasn't. She would be, later…but right now, she was not alright.

She nodded and tried to stand once more. She made it to her feet, but the trembling returned. Finally, he picked her up and began to carry her through the halls of the school to the prefect's bathroom. They passed students along the way, but none of them said anything. Instead, they stared in shock and awe at the two ragged-looking human beings making their way through the halls. When they finally arrived at the bathroom, Hermione whispered the password and they slipped inside.

He set her down gently on the side of the tub, though she still did not want to let him go. She had made herself comfortable with him—he had brought her here, he had saved her from the monsters—and she needed that comfort now. Sirius turned towards the door to go.

"I'll leave you to your bath, then," he said. "If you need me, I'll be right outside."

"Wait," she called, catching him before he left the room. "I…I do need you. I need you to stay." She was staring at him with those big brown eyes, begging and pleading with him not to leave her. He needed to go, he knew this, but how could he go when she was staring at him like that. So instead, he sat down on the toilet and turned his back so that she could undress and climb in to the tub.

As she slipped into the water, she gasped. The hot water stung on her cuts and it was all she could do not to cry out. She stared down at the bruises on her body, and found herself too horrified to touch them. She couldn't wash—she felt that the minute she slipped into the water, it might as well have turned to mud. So instead, she stayed in the water, just sitting there, doing nothing. Finally, after several long minutes, she called his name.

"Sirius?" She sounded so meek it broke his heart.

"Yes?"

"I can't do it," she said simply. He turned to face her and found her sitting the tub of water, her knees tucked to her chest, doing nothing. "I need to be clean. I just want to feel like I'm not dirty anymore, but I can't. I can't do it. I want to scrub, but it hurts too much. I can't get clean."

He climbed into the tub with her, not caring about the clothes that he was getting wet, and took the shampoo from Hermione. As gently as he could, he began to wash her hair—slowly massaging the shampoo into her scalp. He took great care with her as he went through everything—he washed her hair, he washed her body, and she let him. She sat still and held on to his hand the whole time, never letting go.


	6. Nightmares

**Author's Note: **I am so so so sorry that it took me so long to update. Life got a bit crazy. However, I am back with another update, and I hope you enjoy. Also, thank you to **xxTeardropKissess, vamp1987, Helena, BandGeekLove, SiriuslyBwitched, sweet-tang-honey, deaudle, padfootsgrl79, RiverRamsden, LadyNorth76, Sampdoria, LK-HoGwArTs-hEaDgIrl, and apk **for the reviews. You all are amazing. Thanks for the love and keep it up! Please review!

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Minerva McGonagall had seen far too much in her lifetime. She had witnessed the rise and fall of the dark wizard Voldemort twice. She had seen the terror and death and destruction that his followers could cause. She had seen the complete and total despair that was left in the wake of some of that damage, and it was that lack of hope that had scared and horrified her more than anything else. Because while the world may be in ruins, as long as there is hope, there is a chance to rebuild and recover.

It was that hope for recovery that lead the professor to allow Sirius Black to sleep in the hospital wing with Hermione Granger. Everything in her was telling her that it was completely against protocol and propriety, but then she would see the deep sadness—no, despair—in Hermione's eyes when Sirius had to go—even just for a minute—and she would allow him to stay. When he was there, she could see hope in Hermione's eyes; hope that he gave her. For whatever reason, the young witch had grown attached to him, and she wasn't going to tear him away from her.

Minerva McGonagall couldn't help but notice the haunted expression in Sirius's eyes as well. He did a good job hiding it from Harry and Ron—mostly because they were too concerned about Hermione to even think about Sirius. They were too busy fussing over Hermione's bruises and scrapes to notice that Sirius had some of his own. They knew that Hermione took potions for dreamless sleep so that she didn't have nightmares; they didn't know that Sirius would forego those same potions and be haunted by nightmares so that he could be there to comfort Hermione when she awoke. But Minerva McGonagall noticed it all.

Nearly two and a half weeks had passed, and Sirius and Hermione were still inseparable. Harry and Ron came by to visit everyday so that they could check on her progress. After news of her attack got out, others came by as well. Molly Weasley came bearing food and knitted sweaters, the rest of the Weasley clan in tow. Some of the surviving Order members came by, and some old school friends. Through it all, Sirius remained at her bedside. After each visitor would leave, she would reach over and slip her tiny hand into his larger one, taking comfort from his touch.

Hermione was beginning to make trips outside the hospital wing, but only with much coaxing, and only if Sirius went with her. Their first trip had been to the greenhouses so that she could sit in on an advanced Herbology lesson about the newest methods of harvesting mandrakes and their newly-discovered practical purposes. Another day, they went to visit Hagrid so that he could show her some of the new magical creatures that he was caring for. While she was listening to those lessons, she was almost like the old Hermione. She perched on the edge of her seat, focused on the speaker's every word, desperate to learn something new. There was still a timidity in her actions, and she was more quiet and reserved than she had ever been, but it was better than her sitting in the hospital wing all day sleeping. It was after seeing this that Minerva McGonagall got an idea.

One evening, Hermione was sitting up in bed reading over the newest publications on Ancient Runes when McGonagall entered the library, a thick leather-bound journal in her hands. Sirius could tell from her purposeful gait that she had something important to tell them. Naturally, this put him on high alert.

"Hermione, I've got a proposition for you," the professor said, setting the volume on Hermione's bedside table. The younger witch immediately perked up, already fascinated. Sirius could tell that she was itching to discover the contents of the journal.

"I have been asked to write a new transfiguration textbook. Since you are one of the brightest students to ever come through Hogwarts, I thought that perhaps you would like to look over my manuscript before I send it in. You could be my editor, so to speak. Maybe you could see if there is anything I missed."

"You want me to…o-of course. I'll get st-started right away," Hermione answered, reaching for the book. "Um…I think—I'll need some muggle supplies, though. Post-it notes."

McGonagall smiled at her former pupil's enthusiasm. Sirius, who had settled himself at a table nearby, smiled as well. It would give her a long-term project, something to focus on other than getting through the day. He only wished that he had been able to think of something similar sooner. When he looked over at Hermione, who had already begun to leaf through the pages of the book, he couldn't stay upset with himself.

"Sirius, a word please?" McGonagall asked. He rose from his chair and followed her out of the hospital wing. Just as he passed through the door, he heard Hermione's protest. She looked terrified. "I will return Mr. Black in just a moment, Miss Granger. I promise we will be just outside this door."

Hermione nodded, but still looked terrified. Sirius tried to give her a reassuring smile as he stepped out the door and pulled it closed behind him. Immediately, McGonagall turned on him, her expression hardening. He took a step back.

"Poppy tells me that you've been having nightmares, and that you won't take her dreamless sleep potion. I understand that you're looking after Miss Granger, and that she has an attachment to you because of that, but you must also take care of yourself. How are you going to be able to look after her if you are running yourself ragged?"

"I don't need the pot—"

"If you don't need the potions, why have you woken up before four o'clock every night since you've been here?" He stared at her in shock, wondering how she knew that. Pomfrey, he realized. He should have known that Poppy was giving her updates on both of them. "I'm not going to ask you to confide in me when you're clearly not comfortable with the idea. I am, however, going to ask that you take care of yourself. Shave. Cut your hair. Get some clothes that actually look presentable."

He couldn't argue with that. At least she wasn't attempting the caring and sharing method. "Yes, ma'am," he answered, turning back to the doors.

"And Sirius?"

"Yes?"

"I don't know or understand the nature of Miss Granger's attachment to you, but be careful with her. While she may appear to be recovering well, she is still very fragile. Be careful with her."

If he hadn't already been as white as a sheet, he would have paled. He had been telling himself that her attachment to him was because he had saved her, which was entirely possible. It wasn't uncommon for that to happen. That had to be what it was. And he was sticking around because she needed someone. Harry and Ron had to work, he told himself, and he didn't have a job. It made sense that he would stay with her.

"She's strong, Minerva. She is going to be okay. We just have to give her some time."

"Yes, of course. We will give her time. Now I think I have kept you long enough."

The Headmistress turned away and Sirius made his way back inside, where he found Hermione propped up in bed, reading over Minerva's manuscript. She looked fascinated. When she heard the door slam closed behind him, she looked up and sighed. Relief was evident on her features.

"What did Professor McGonagall want?" she asked.

"She was just asking about Harry and Ron. She missed their visit today," he lied easily. She nodded and got back to reading her manuscript. Sirius slid into bed and watched her as she read. It wasn't too long before his eyelids had grown heavy, and he slid into sleep.

_He almost wished that they would put him back on the rack. At least with the rack he knew what to expect. Now, the pain was coming from all sides. It was sharp and hot and blindingly terrible. He wanted to scream, to beg for mercy, but he wouldn't. He wished that it was because he was determined not to give them the satisfaction, but it was mostly because he had screamed himself hoarse. He wasn't sure if it was possible to scream until your throat bled, but if it was, he was close. _

_He could feel the blood trickling down his cheeks from the cut in his scalp. Come morning, he would have thick mattes of blood and grime in his hair. Of course, that was assuming that morning ever came. He wasn't really sure how time moved here. Instead, he had started to measure time based on cycles. It started with a beating. Then they put him on the rack. Then there was the Cruciatus curse, followed shortly by whatever form of creative torture they could invent. _

_This time, they had heated tiny needles and were pressing them into the sensitive areas in his flesh. There was one lodged between his knee cap and the bones of his leg. Several more under his armpits and around his crotch. He had lost count of how many were under each finger and toe nail. Quite frankly, it really wasn't worth trying to keep up with it anymore. It was all just painful. _

_And he wanted it to stop. As he was writhing in pain in his restraints, he was silently begging for help. From anyone. _Someone, _he thought. _Please, someone has to help me…make it stop, please…someone, please…hear me…

"Sirius? Sirius? Wake up!" Hermione's voice pulled him from his nightmare-plagued sleep. He jerked awake to find her standing over him, shaking him violently as she tried to wake him from his dreams. Concern was all over her face, but he also saw something else: fear. She was afraid for him.

"Sirius? Are you alright?"

He sat up. "Of course. I'm fine."

"You're not fine. You were screaming, begging for it to stop. That is not fine. Trust me. I should know about not being fine," she said quietly.

"It was just a nightmare. It'll fade," he answered, trying to play it off.

"Why don't you take some of Madam Pomfrey's dreamless sleep potion? That would make it stop long enough for you to sleep."

"I'm fine without it," he insisted.

She took his face in her hands and forced him to look her in the eyes, something he hadn't been able to do since she had awoken him. "Sirius…I don't know what's wrong, but you're not okay. I'm glad that you're trying to be strong for me—and don't tell me that you're not, because I know that you are—but you have to take care of yourself. Take the potion. Get some sleep."

"The potion only makes them stop when you take it. Eventually, I'll have to stop and deal with the long term root of it."

"Which is?" she demanded, before thinking about what she was asking. As soon as the words crossed her lips, she froze, horrified with herself. "I'm sorry. You don't have to answer that. I'm so sorry."

"No…it's alright."

She studied him for a moment, taking notice of just how haggard he was. He hadn't looked like this before he had fallen through the veil. "The veil. You're having nightmares about the veil."

He studied his hands for a moment, not wanting to look her in the eyes. It was as if he were ashamed, though they both knew that there was no shame in having nightmares or in having been through what they had been through. Maybe it was just because he didn't want to tell her that her pillar of strength was broken, too. But it was too late. She had already figured out that it wasn't all rest in peace and fluffy angels beyond the veil, so there was really no point in keeping it from her.

"The veil was…it was a doorway to somewhere else. I-I'm not really sure how or where it was, exactly. I just know that Bellatrix was there, and she was…she was really enjoying tearing me apart. I-I lost all sense of time, but instead it was all about—"

"The cycles. I know," she finished for him. He couldn't look her in the eye. He didn't want to see the look of horror or pity on her face. Pity wasn't something that he could stand. Sirius Black had lived through the first of the Dark Ages. He had seen some truly terrible things. Torture was something he was used to. But Hermione wasn't. She shouldn't be worrying about him. It should have been the other way around.

"They put me on the rack…and I remember wishing that they would put me back on it, just because I knew what to expect. They came up with new and interesting ways to nearly tear me apart. There was no rest for me, no angels or mansions in heaven. I don't know if maybe that was hell, but it might as well have been," he whispered.

She sat down on the edge of his bed and took his trembling hand in hers. There was silence for a long time as they just studied each other, unsure about what to do. They were both a little bit broken, both trying to put themselves back together. Maybe, he thought, maybe if he could help Hermione, it would be penance for whatever it was he had done to deserve his time beyond the veil. He was going to help her.

And she was going to help him. Despite her own pain, her heart ached for him. He had been a good man, a strong man, a fiercely loyal man throughout his life. He hadn't deserved what had happened to him anymore than she had. And here he was trying to take care of her. He was letting himself fall apart trying to take care of her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"What happened to me isn't your fault. Don't apologize."

"No…you've been so busy taking care of me that you didn't take care of yourself. You need to worry about you instead of worrying about my problems."

"Hermione…I've been there. I've been through the pain, the recovery, the coping. I'm not going to abandon you to deal with this on your own. Especially not because of a few nightmares."

They both knew that there was far more to it than that, but for the moment, it would do. She just nodded and sat still on the edge of the bed. She made no move to go back to her own. Finally, she looked at him shyly and asked in a small voice, "Can I…can I sleep with you tonight?"

He knew that he should say no. He should gently turn her away and send her back to her own bed that was all of five feet away. But he didn't. Instead, he nodded and lay down beside her, wrapping his arms around her. Moments later, they were both asleep.

Neither of them dreamed.


	7. Making Plans

**Author's Note: I know, I am a terrible, terrible person. I have updated in forever (like, almost a year) and most of you have probably forgotten this story. But I'm back, I have the rest of the story charted out, and the updates will be more consistent now. In my defense, I did graduate from college, go through surgery, argue with the IRS, and press charges against a crazy ex-boyfriend. So, now that life is more stable, I will be better. I promise.**

* * *

In the weeks that followed, Sirius watched Hermione improve a little each day. He watched as she learned how to cope; she worked for hours on the manuscript that Minerva had given her, leaving copious amounts of notes on bright yellow post-it notes that she stuck to the pages. Some of them were adjustments that she felt needed to be made; others were simply notes on the clarity and brilliance of the piece. The more she learned from Minerva's manuscript, the more her confidence increased.

But the whole time, she never strayed far from Sirius. She would curl up on the window seat in the library, and Sirius would perch himself on a chair a few feet away, watching her vigilantly. He looked out of place sitting in on lectures with her, but it was worth the price. Hermione was getting better, and that was worth a little embarrassment. Besides, a lot of these children that were in Hogwarts now didn't recognize him anymore. The Notorious Sirius Black was still notorious, but his picture wasn't in wide circulation anymore. So mostly, kids were thinking that it was weird that some older guy was sitting in the back of the classroom.

Watching her get better was therapy in itself for Sirius. Knowing that he had been a part of this—that he had helped this woman get better and overcome her trauma—helped him sleep a little easier at night. He still didn't like to take the potions, but he needed to sleep every once in a while, so he would take the potion once or twice a week. When he had shared his bed with Hermione, the nightmares had stayed away, but he couldn't bring himself to ask her to stay with him. She would say yes, he knew, but he would always wonder how much of it was out a sense of being indebted to him for helping to rescue her and how much of it was her genuinely wanting him to be with her.

One day, after working on Minerva's manuscript for a good two weeks, Hermione looked up at Sirius from her place on the window seat and asked, "Are you bored?"

He looked up from the battered old copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages _that he had propped open on his lap but wasn't really reading. Surprised, he asked, "Bored? No, not at all."

"You sit there and watch me, day after day, and I was just wondering if you had other things that you would rather be doing."

"No, there's nothing else that I'd rather be doing."

"Not even making mischief for Professor McGonagall?" she asked, the barest hint of a playful smile on her face. It was the first glimpse of playfulness he had seen from her since the whole terrible ordeal had started, and he was happier to see that tiny glimpse of humor than he had been to see anything in a long time.

"It's a close competition, but no. Still not bored. But if I could cause some mischief while sitting here in the library…that would definitely be ideal." He couldn't stifle the grin that was spreading across his face. Hermione's good humor was infectious.

"You'd get me kicked out of the library, and then where would I work?"

"They would let you work wherever you asked," he answered. "Now, it's time for you to eat something. You haven't eaten anything today."

She put down her quill and pad of post-it notes and tucked everything into the giant manuscript before slipping it into her shoulder bag. Since she had started attending classes again, she had started carrying all her supplies with her and wearing robes; it made her feel like a student again. It took her back to a time before all of this happened, when she and Harry and Ron were all still too young to understand that bad things could happen to them too.

When they ate in the Great Hall, they always sat at the farthest corner of the staff table, trying to draw as little attention as possible. Today, that wasn't possible. As soon as they sat down to eat, a harried-looking McGonagall approached the table. She wasn't the type of professor to ever look like she didn't have things under control, but now was one of those few exceptions.

"Ah, Miss Granger. Just the woman I was looking for," she said as she approached.

"You were looking for me?"

"Professor Flitwick is unable to teach his classes today, and I realized that I have a perfectly well-qualified substitute on hand right here."

"You want me to teach the charms classes for today? But I'm not a professor—"

"Miss Granger, you are one of the brightest pupils to ever come through Hogwarts; I would not have asked you if I didn't have full faith in your abilities," McGonagall told her, a knowing smile on her face.

"If you think—I would love to," she answered quietly.

"Excellent. The first class begins in half an hour. You'll find Professor Flitwick's notes waiting for you on the desk. You will have the first years immediately after lunch. They are working on a levitation charm. As I recall, you are very familiar with it, yes?"

Memories flashed before her eyes; her correcting Ron's pronunciation and his cruel remarks afterward. Those were followed by memories of fighting the enormous cave troll in the girl's bathroom. That had been the beginning of her unlikely friendship with the two boys who had always stuck beside her. Ah, to be young and brazen and foolish again.

She wondered what it was like for Sirius, to be back in a place where he had caused so much mischief with his friends. Sometimes, when they were walking through the corridors, she would see him staring at one of the suits of armor or one of the nooks that lead to a hidden passageway that he and his friends had used so often when they were in school. Of the four Marauders, he was the only one left. Did being here remind him of the friends that were longer with him anymore? Or maybe he was just thinking of the fond memories of being young and carefree?

"Yes, quite familiar."

"Don't be nervous. You will be just fine." And then, with the swish of her robes, McGonagall was gone, leaving Hermione and Sirius alone with their lunch.

Suddenly, she found that she wasn't all that hungry. Sirius watched as she spent the next five minutes pushing her food around with her fork, not eating a single thing. Finally, she pushed her chair away from the table and stood up.

"I can't eat anything. I'm too nervous. I'm just going to look over Professor Flitwick's class notes," she told him.

"Minerva is right, Hermione. You'll do just fine."

"I know. I just…when I was younger, I used dream of being a professor at Hogwarts."

"So why didn't you?"

"The Ministry made me a really great offer. And Ron and I were still together at the time, and it's difficult to have a relationship when you're a professor. It was ideal for the situation. That was when Ron and I were still serious."

As he was watching her, he could see in her face that as great as that Ministry offer had been, it wasn't what she had wanted. The idea of teaching these students clearly made Hermione nervous, but he knew from experience that you only get nervous about things that matter. He was willing to bet that she hadn't been nervous for a minute before her first day of work at the Ministry.

"Were you nervous about starting your job at the Ministry?" he asked quietly, putting a gentle hand on her arm. For the first time in a long time, she didn't flinch when he touched her.

She sighed and smiled. It wasn't a real smile—not the ones that he remembered. It didn't reach all the way to her eyes, and there was more than a hint of wistfulness in her expression. "No, I wasn't. After everything that happened…with Harry and the battle here, the Ministry didn't seem so scary."

"So why are you nervous now?"

"When you teach children, you're giving them their future. You become responsible for them and their success in life. When I came here, the professors had so much passion for what they were teaching me, and now it's my job to do that for these kids, even if it's only for a day."

"Well, if they see a fraction of the passion that you have, they'll all want to be professors. Do you want me to stay?"

"Please," she said. "Just take one of the open seats at the back."

She stepped into the classroom and went about familiarizing herself with Flitwick's notes. Sirius watched her walk around the front of the room, running over what she was going to say during her lecture. She ran through the motions of the levitation charm—swish and flick—several times, and drew a diagram on the chalkboard. A few minutes before the students were scheduled to come in, she pulled a bag out of Flitwick's desk and put a feather at every other seat.

Slowly, the students started to filter in and take their seats. Hermione stayed at the front of the class, watching them come in. More and more of them took their seats, and she could see their parents reflected in them. Kingsley Shaklebolt's grandson sat on the front row; closer to the back, she could see someone that reminded her vaguely of Crabbe—maybe a nephew. She wondered how many familiar names she was going to see on her role.

When the time finally rolled around, she cleared her throat and spoke over the dull roar of the classroom. "As you can see, Professor Flitwick is not able to teach your class today. I am Miss Granger, and I will be filling in for him today. Since I don't know any of your names, please answer when I call the roll."

Frederick Abbot, here. Lydia Bell, here. Portia Crockford, here.

The list went on and on, each child obediently answering when she called their names. There was the occasional whisper, as curious students were like to do. She could imagine what they were saying. _Where's Professor Flitwick? Granger? Was this Hermione Granger? She's pretty…_

The first class went off without a hitch. Well, without a hitch that wasn't expected. There were several incinerated feathers, and some that had shot across the room, completely out of control. But most of the children managed to get the feather to float a few inches above the top of the desk before bringing it back down.

Sirius watched the whole time and knew that this was what Hermione was meant to be doing. As each child got the feather off the desk—or even when they burned it up—their faces would light up with a smile, and so would Hermione's. At the beginning of the class, she was nervous, but she relaxed as it continued, and by the time all was said and done, each of the students had successfully levitated a feather. They all filed out the room proud of what they'd accomplished.

"See," Sirius said after the last student had left. "There was nothing to be nervous about."

"Well, the next class is a group of seventh years, and the lesson is going to be more advanced."

"I can think of some advanced charms lessons. You could teach them how to turn their hair purple."

"Somehow, I don't think that their parents are going to be pleased that I'm teaching them to turn their hair different colors. Besides, purple isn't a good color for me," she replied glibly.

Before he could answer, a seventh-year student walked in and took their seat at the front of the room. They would be working on a charm that animates inanimate objects. It was more advanced than she would have planned for this early in the school year, but maybe this class was making more progress than she would have planned for.

"I am Miss Granger; I'll be filling in for Professor Flitwick. Today we'll be working on an animus charm. It will enable you to animate inanimate objects. Typically, if the charm works, you'll see the object begin to dance across the top of the desk. Before we get started, I'll call the role. Please, answer when I call your name."

James Ackerly, present. Miriam Bones, present. Juliet Flint, present.

This time, the whispers were louder. _Granger? Like, Hermione Granger? I always thought that she would be taller? She looks good for her age. I can't believe a Mudblood is teaching us…_

Sirius overheard the less-than-flattering remarks, but a look from Hermione silenced him. She continued to call the role, until she got to the end. He watched her face pale and her hands started to shake. Reflexively, he stood, ready to take action if she needed him.

The breath was pulled from her lungs; her chest was tight and no matter how much she tried, she couldn't seem to catch her breath. Her mouth was open, her lips moving as she tried to push the name across her lips, but the sound wouldn't come out. Her vocal cords were paralyzed. Finally, after several moments of struggling and several strange looks from the students, she got it out.

"D-d-d…Demetrius Ya-Yaxley."

A young, dark-featured boy at the back of the classroom raised his hand slowly, staring at her like she was insane. He looked just like his father. Several of the students—the ones with the Slytherin patches on their robes—laughed at her and continued to whisper to themselves. Hermione ignored them and gripped the edge of the desk with a white-knuckled grip. Sirius moved to come to the front, but she shook her head and warned him off.

"The w-wand motion for an animus charm should look like a-a sideways S. Remember that y-you should be u-using y-your wrist to make the motion, not y-your arm. If you have trouble, raise your hand and I will come by and help you."

Several children raised their hands, looking for help. She carefully corrected their hand and wrist motions, but there was none of the joy in this group that she had seen in the first-years. There were smiles, but they weren't as uninhibited as the previous class; they all seemed to be holding something back, like it wasn't cool to show how excited they were when they watched their feathers do a dance across the desk.

After twenty minutes of trying, Demetrius Yaxley raised his hand. Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, Hermione made her way to the back of the classroom. Sirius was standing again, spine stiff and straight and more on edge than she had ever seen him before. When she stood beside the boy, Sirius took several steps forward, as if he could comfort her by being closer.

"I can't get the feather to dance, Miss Granger. I'm not sure what I'm doing wrong," Demetrius Yaxley said.

"L-let me see y-your wand motion," she answered. He showed her a large, swooping motion that wasn't anything close to what she had instructed them to do. "Y-you need to use y-your wrist; not y-your arm." He tried again unsuccessfully. "Smaller. Try again."

After several minutes, he finally got the feather to dance along the tabletop, but he didn't smile like the other children. There wasn't even the slightest trace of anything like joy in his face. Instead, there was a cold smile that didn't seem genuine in the slightest. He didn't bother with a thank you.

"Hermione, are you alright?" Sirius whispered in her ear after she stepped away from the child.

"H-he has a son. Y-Yaxley has a son."

"Harry and Ron will get him. They're not going to let anyone else hurt you. _I _won't let anyone else hurt you."

"I know. What if his son is as bad as he is? I looked at the roll for my next class, and Dolohov's daughter is on the roll. She's a sixth-year. What if the children are as bad as their parents?" she whispered.

"Those people can't hurt you. You're strong; you can protect yourself. Everything will come back together. It will."

"I know."

"I'll go find Minerva and tell her to find someone else to cover the classes—"

"No," she said, cutting him off. She grabbed his hand, stopping him from moving. "I can do this. I have to do this."

"Why put yourself through this? There's no—"

"I have to face it. Because it scares me, I have to face it. Even if it is just their children. And I have an idea."

"An idea?"

"After Yaxley leaves this class, follow him," she said, her voice leaving no room for argument. She was still pale, but she wasn't trembling any longer and she was clearly had an idea.

"I'll see you in the hospital wing tonight?"

"Absolutely."

When the class was over, Sirius slipped out of the classroom behind Yaxley and followed the child to his next class-potions. Sirius never had been a fan of the dungeons. He sat quietly outside the door until the class was out. When students started to leave the room, he slipped around a corner and waited until the student emerged from class. He followed him back to the Slytherin common room. The next thing on the schedule was dinner for everyone, so he headed to the Great Hall, where he found Hermione sitting at the staff table.

"How was your class?"

"Dolohov's child is just as bad as Yaxley's. But otherwise, the classes were great. They picked up on the material so quickly, I could have cut the class short. They were asking for new stuff, but I didn't have anything prepared. And they actually smiled; they were enjoying learning. It was…fantastic. How was Yaxley?"

"He went to potions, and then the Slytherin common room. Do you want to tell me what's going on in that lovely head of yours?" he asked. Only after the words were out of his mouth did he realize what he said. The blush on Hermione's cheek told him that she had noticed it, too.

"What are the chances of these kids not having contact with their parents?"

"Practically none."

"Exactly. If we watch them, at some point in time, they're going to talk to their parents. That's when we have Ron and Harry step in and get them."

Sirius felt a smile spreading across his face as he thought about getting the bastards who had hurt Hermione. He found himself leaning towards her to place a gentle kiss on her temple, but then he stopped himself as he realized that not only were they in public, but that Hermione was off limits.

"Do you, um, want me to follow Yaxley again tomorrow?" he asked. She nodded and they rose to return to their special corner of the hospital wing. Her hand slipped into his easily, like second nature.

"If you don't mind."

He pushed the doors of the hospital wing open and found it deserted. He slid behind a partition and quickly slipped into his pajamas. When he emerged, he found the last thing in the world that he had expected to find. Hermione—pajama clad—had slipped into his bed.

"You still have nightmares. You didn't that night when we…slept together. I thought, maybe, we could try it again," she whispered.

"This could be a bad idea," he answered quietly.

"I don't think so. You need sleep, I need sleep, and there's…something between us. I don't know what you would call it, but it's there. I like having you close, and I haven't slept as well as I did that night since then."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely."

He slipped into bed next to her, and she rested her head on his chest. The steady _thump-thump _of his chest was comforting, and she drifted off to sleep quickly. Before she was completely gone, though, she felt the gentle pressure of a kiss on her temple.


	8. Not Anymore

Harry and Ron were waiting for them in the Great Hall when they arrived for breakfast the next morning. Without missing a beat, Hermione and Sirius sat down across from them and began to eat as if there was nothing going on. The rest of the staff did so as well—of course, it helped that they didn't look like Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. Ron's hair was a dark shade of chocolate brown, his features sharper than usual. Harry's hair was a light sandy blonde—which looked horrible with his complexion—his eyes a bright, clear blue, and the scar was gone. No one would ever notice that they were anyone important.

"You said you had a plan. A plan to catch them?" Harry asked quietly.

"Their children are still here. I taught them yesterday in my Charms class," Hermione answered.

"Wait, you were teaching?" Ron interrupted. Hermione couldn't keep a smile off her face. Ron always had been one for tangents.

"Flitwick was going to miss some of his classes, so Professor McGonagall asked me to fill in for him. Yaxley and Dolohov have children. Children that go here, to Hogwarts. They were in my classes yesterday and I'm sure that if he were still alive, Voldemort would find them just as…promising as he found their parents."

"They were that bad?" Harry asked.

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, Harry. And I'm willing to bet that both of them are still in contact with their parents. If we can follow them, get to know their routines—who they're talking to, where their owls go—we can find their parents and Hermione can go back to living a normal life," Sirius explained.

"Using a child to get to their parents, though?"

"You heard them, Harry. The kids are as bad as the parents. Can't really say that I'm surprised, though. Both of them are bloody rotten pricks," Ron said quietly.

Harry was silent, clearly deep in thought about where to go from here. In theory, it was a good, solid plan. However, he had far too much experience with good, solid, theoretical plans going awry. Having Hermione and Sirius at Hogwarts was a good way to keep an eye on the children in question, but there was no way that a team of just the two of them would be able to monitor the children's every move—which is exactly what they needed to do. Hermione watched her friend and realized exactly what he was thinking.

"For this to work, we'll need more people," she whispered.

"We can stay," Harry said quietly. "In disguise like we are."

"What about work?" Ron asked. "You've got an entire department to run."

Harry grinned lopsidedly. "They can hold down the fort without us for a few days. Besides, I left some specific instructions about emergencies. They've got common sense. They'll be okay."

"Are you going to sit in on my classes today and then go from there?"

Harry nodded. "We'll sit in on the ones that they're in. Before that we've got some things we need to see to—"

"We do?" Harry eyed Ron pointedly and gave him a swift sharp kick in the shins. "Oh, right. Er, yeah. We've got stuff we've got to look into."

"I won't have them until after lunch."

"Good. That will give us the time we need to get things started. We'll meet back here for lunch?"

They each nodded their agreement and went their separate ways. Harry and Ron headed to the headmistress's office to talk to Professor McGonagall, while Sirius and Hermione went to Professor Flitwick's classroom to look over class notes and plans. While Hermione had things well in hand in the classroom, Harry and Ron had more difficulty with Professor McGonagall.

"You want to do _what?_" she asked, though her tone made it perfectly clear that she knew exactly what they were asking.

"Professor, if we didn't think that this was our best chance of finding them, I would never suggest doing something like this, but—"

"This is exactly like something that you would suggest, Mister Potter! This is exactly the sort of thing that you did all through your years in school—"

"And it was all with good reason!" he argued.

Professor McGonagall took a deep breath to calm herself. "I am aware of this, Mister Potter. That is why I am allowing you to continue with this plan."

"Thank you—"

"On the condition that you do not harm the children. They cannot be held responsible for the actions of their parents."

"If they aren't involved, they won't be. But what are the chances that these children don't know what their parents are doing? Hermione said that they did everything that they could to make her uncomfortable yesterday."

"And what would you have me do?" McGonagall asked.

"Sirius is going to follow the older one, Demetrius Yaxley. I'll follow the younger one, Anna Dolohov. Since owls are the main way of communicating, Ron will be stationed in the owlery to keep an eye on their correspondence. If I can intercept their owls and see what they're telling their parents, and then follow the owl to their hiding place, we can get them. We can put them away and Hermione can move on with her life. She can go home and feel safe again."

McGonagall was in thought for a long moment, her conflicted feelings clearly written all over her face. To think that two of her students could have anything to do with conspiring to help their parents torment Hermione was more than she wanted to think about. She preferred to think of students as young, inquiring minds that were just starving to learn; she preferred to think that learning humanized character and did not permit it to be cruel. But she was also looking at the best chance to catching the people who hurt Hermione, the people who would continue to cause harm to all of the wizarding world.

Finally, she nodded, though she did not look happy with her decision. Harry sighed in relief, and Ron was considerably less subtle in his reaction. He gave a very loud sigh, followed by a, "Thank you! Finally!" She gave him a very long, stern look—just as she had when they were still students—and dismissed them from her office.

"You used a semi-permanent transfiguration spell, right?" Harry asked as they made their way down the hall towards the owlery.

"Yeah. I'll use another in the owlery."

They parted ways as Harry headed into Hermione's classroom to find her in the middle of a lecture, teaching some of the fifth years how to make parchment jump around the table. As he had expected, Sirius was sitting on guard at the back of the classroom, diligently watching her.

"How is she doing, Sirius? Honestly?" Harry asked quietly.

"She was born to teach," he answered, purposely misunderstanding the question.

"You know what I mean. How is she getting along after…what happened?"

Sirius sighed, trying to buy himself time to come up with an answer that wouldn't alarm Harry, since telling him the truth about their situation was probably not the best idea. "She's doing well. She's mostly stopped having nightmares, though it still happens sometimes. Minerva gave her a manuscript to read and edit, and it's really been helpful. It has given her something to focus on other than sitting in the hospital wing. And she really enjoyed teaching this class. Aside from the Yaxley and Dolohov kids, she's doing very well."

"And how are you, Sirius?"

"What?" Sirius blurted, clearly not expecting the question.

"When I first saw you, when you had first come back, you were exhausted. You were hurting. It was written all over your face. How are you doing?"

Sirius took along moment to think about how he was doing. How was he doing? Was he dealing with what had happened to him? Maybe, maybe not. The worst feeling—aside from the pain—was that of being helpless. He didn't feel pain anymore, but he couldn't be sure about helplessness. Most of the time, he felt strong. When he was helping Hermione, or when she smiled at him, or when she curled up next to him in bed, he felt strong. But there were sometimes when she had nightmares that he felt completely powerless to help her.

"I'm alright. There are some good days and some bad days."

The morning passed quickly and well. Harry watched as Hermione thrived in the classroom, and he couldn't help but notice that as Hermione grew more confident, Sirius seemed more content. After each class, she came to the back of the classroom to talk to Sirius, and it was like they were in their own little world. They talked in a way that was completely their own.

Harry wasn't a stupid person—far from it, in fact—and it didn't take a rocket scientist or a master wizard to tell that something was going on between them. He wasn't sure if it was a bond based on the fact that he had been the one to truly rescue her from Dolohov and Yaxley or if maybe it was something else. Knowing both of them the way that he did, he could guess that it was something deep and complex, and probably something that he would never fully understand. He also knew that he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it.

Hermione—despite the fact that they had grown up in the years since Sirius's death—was still considerably younger than Sirius. Yes, she probably had nearly as much life experience as Sirius had, but he still wondered about them. And yet, it was difficult to disapprove of whatever they were doing—and he wasn't entirely sure what that was, exactly—when it was clearly helping both of them heal. He decided to reserve judgment until he actually knew exactly what the nature of their relationship was.

At lunch, they all reported back on their findings, though Ron was the only one who had anything to report.

"Both kids went to the owlery this morning. Sent a message through one of the school's owls. Whatever they were sending, it was short. The message was tiny," Ron reported.

"Were you able to find out where the owls were going?" Harry asked quietly.

"No, but I sent to the Ministry for two trained following birds."

"Trained owls?" Sirius asked. Trained owls were a relatively new development that the ministry had been using to monitor correspondence between suspected dark wizards.

"The owls know will take a command from me, and I'll tell them to follow the ones that Yaxley and Dolohov send out. Our owls will have a tracking spell on them that will let us know where they went so that we can go later and check out the place that the letter was delivered to," Ron explained. Clearly, this was something that he was excited about, as he seemed to get more and more animated the more he explained. When Sirius and Hermione stared at him in amusement, his face turned bright red and he sheepishly admitted, "The project was my idea."

Sirius gave him a boyish grin. He remembered what it was like to be young and excited about projects like this one. Despite the fact that they were older and in many way more mature than they were when he had passed through the veil, there were still times when he could see the child at heart peeking through. It was good to see that growing up and defeating Voldemort hadn't completely killed their childlike sense of excitement at some things.

"Do we know what was in the letter?" Sirius asked.

"Unless I can actually intercept the owl, there's no way I'm going to be able to find that out. Unless you've got any other suggestions?"

Hermione was deep in thought for a moment, scouring her brain for anything that could be helpful. She wanted this whole thing over and done with, and if there was some way that she could make that happen, she was going to contribute in whatever way possible. After a long moment, she found it.

"I've got something. When I was reviewing some of Professor Flitwick's old notes, I found a freezing charm."

"Freezing charm?" Ron sounded completely lost. "Like, ice cubes?"

"No, not ice cubes. The charm freezes everything within in range of the spell. It's a bit like the body bind curse, but the person isn't aware that they've been frozen."

"Does it stop time?" Harry asked, remembering just how dangerous it was to play with time. Hermione herself knew how dangerous it was to play with time.

"No, time continues to pass, but the person is just frozen. It's only a short-term spell. According to documentation, the longest it has ever lasted is seven minutes."

Harry glanced at Ron. "Do you think you could learn it?"

"I've got long enough. Hermione, if you can get me the spell book, I'm betting I can get it right by the time they come in. I've got at least three hours."

They stopped eating immediately and headed for Flitwick's classroom. Hermione pulled a thin, leather-bound book off of one of the shelves and flipped through it until she came to the right page. Ron studied the page, which included a diagram of wand movement and the exact effects of the spell. Harry anxiously read over Ron's shoulder.

"It seems simple enough. I'll head to the owlery and start practicing."

Soon after Ron left, the students started pouring in. The first years were just as well-behaved as they were the day before. Hermione was positively glowing until the minute Demetrius Yaxley walked through the door. He had the same nasty grin on his face that he had the day before, and it got even bigger as he laid eyes on Hermione.

After she finished calling the roll, she reviewed the spell they went over the day before and asked the students to please make the feather dance across the desk top before they could move on. While most of the students got it immediately, Yaxley was back to using an enormous wand motion as he unsuccessfully tried to make it dance. Five minutes in, his hand was in the air.

"Y-yes, M-mister Y-Yaxley? What's the p-problem?" Hermione asked, though she already knew what the problem was.

"I can't seem to get my feather to dance again."

"Y-you know th-that y-you have to make y-your wand m-motion smaller."

"I think that perhaps if I had a more articulate instructor, I would be able to learn better."

Harry gritted his teeth and balled his hands into fists, fighting the urge to give the boy a swift kick in the seat of the pants. Next to him, Sirius's reaction was ten times stronger.

"There's no way he's not involved," Sirius whispered furiously.

"Just don't kill him, alright? We need him to find his dad."

Sirius nodded and followed the boy as he left the classroom. Harry remained behind to watch the next class. Anna Dolohov must have been the spitting image of her mother because she didn't look a thing like her father; that is, she was actually quite pretty. She was a slight girl with delicate features. Her fine features did not hide the fact that she was a nasty human being.

Hermione was doing her best to teach the sixth years a silencing charm; rather than interrupting like Demetrius had done, Anna instead opted to spend the entire class period staring at Hermione as if she were searching for any trace of weakness. When they finally started practicing, Anna managed to send a stray silencing spell Hermione's way. Hermione quickly reversed the spell, though she was clearly shaken. Harry was grateful that Sirius wasn't there to witness the entire display.

When Anna rose to leave the room after class, Harry quietly slipped out behind her. He followed her as she made her way to the Slytherin common room, and then waited outside for her to return. She emerged several minutes later—a letter in hand—and headed to the owlery. He only hoped that Ron had managed to master the freezing spell.

Apparently he had, because the minute that Harry stepped into the room, he saw a frozen Anna Dolohov standing near a window while Ron sat nearby reading the letter that he had pulled from her hand. Harry slammed the door shut behind him and locked the door to keep anyone from entering.

"What does it say?" Harry asked immediately.

"It's a report to her dad. She's giving him Hermione's schedule, complete with where she sleeps and what she eats for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. This girl is one nasty bitch," he answered.

"Has she said anything about Sirius?"

"Yeah. She knows exactly who he is. Dolohov told her. He's also got her looking in the library to see if she can figure out how he may have come back from the veil."

"Because nothing says "I love you" like using your children to kill someone. What about the other one? Yaxley's kid?"

"His letter held a similar report. Now hurry, we've got to get this folded up and you've got to get out of here before the spell wears off."

Harry quickly hurried out of the room as Ron folded up the letter and put it back in the girl's hand. He tucked himself out of sight in a corner just as the spell wore off. She didn't linger after sending her owl, and Ron quickly sent his tracking owl after hers. Harry followed her as she left the owlery; she headed back towards the Slytherin common room. On the way there, she bumped into Demetrius Yaxley; Harry didn't miss the discreet note passing as they passed each other.

The four of them met back in Flitwick's classroom after dinner that night. Hermione was quieter than usual, Sirius was more agitated than usual, and Ron was excited about the success of his tracking owls.

"These kids are helping their parents. They're actively trying to hurt Hermione. We take it to McGonagall, and she should take it to the Ministry. These are dark wizards in the making, Harry. You saw Yaxley. He enjoyed causing trouble for Hermione—"

"Sirius, it'll be fine," Hermione whispered quietly.

"Ron's tracking owls worked—" Harry started.

"Damn right they did!" Ron chirped excitedly.

"—which means that tomorrow, we'll be able to go investigate. We're close, Sirius. Really close—"

"So why don't we go now?" Sirius demanded.

"Because we're all too exhausted to be any good in a fight, and I don't want to send anyone else," Harry answered. "Our best option is to go in tomorrow after we get a good night's sleep."

His tone told them all that his words were final; no one bothered to argue with him. Instead, they all headed to their sleeping quarters. Harry and Ron were borrowing rooms in the professor's quarters while Sirius and Hermione returned to the hospital wing. As soon as they climbed into bed together, Sirius pulled her tight against him.

There was nothing sexual about the embrace. Instead, it was comforting for both him and for her. After a day of staying away from each other, of not having the comfort of each other's touch, it was like coming home. He had her in his arms again, and it was a reminder that she was safe with him.

"Are you alright?" she whispered.

"Am _I _alright? You're the one that they've been after all day. Yes, I'm fine. You're safe, and I'm fine."

"It's almost over, Sirius. We'll have them soon, and they won't be able to hurt anyone else."

Sirius kissed the top of her head and pulled her closer. "I'm selfish. I don't care about anyone else. You'll be safe."

"I'm safe now," she said quietly, her voice completely free of fear. "You're not going to let them hurt me, and I'm not going to, either." She was silent for a long time as she thought, and Sirius didn't try to interrupt. "You know, I think I turned them into some sort of monsters, like they were all powerful or something. But they aren't. They're not powerful. Right now, they're hiding out somewhere. They're hiding because they're afraid of what we're going to do to them. They're scared, and I'm not. Not anymore."

He kissed her then. It started out as a gentle kiss, but she didn't let it stay that way. She pressed herself closer to him and twined her fingers in his hair, trying to be closer. When she finally pulled away, they were both breathless and grinning. He didn't stop grinning until she fell asleep.

She might not be scared anymore, but he still was.


	9. I Don't Like It

**Author's Note: Sorry again for the delay. I had this chapter laid out and typed up and then suffered a minor computer problem (and by problem I ean it deleted all my files) and had to do it over. I hope it lives up to your standards and that you enjoy it. Please review!**

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"What did you get off of the tracking owls?" Harry asked Ron when they were staring at the ceiling in the wee hours of the morning. They had both given up on trying to get to sleep several hours ago; there was too much going on. They were both thinking about how things were going to go. Pouncing on any excuse to get out of the bed, Ron quickly pulled a muggle map out of his bag and showed it to Harry.

"Here," he said, pointing out a location on a muggle map that they had tacked to the wall of the dormitory room. He was forever grateful to his father for teaching him the usefulness of muggle things, and this instance was no different. "Now, remind me why we're not going right now."

"Because we don't have a team organized yet," Harry answered quietly, though he was beginning to question the logic in his call, especially since his second wind had arrived the minute he tried to go to sleep. And now, seeing the playful glint in Ron's eyes, he knew exactly where this conversation was headed.

"And when has that ever stopped us?"

"Good point. Shall we?" Harry asked lightly, snatching up his broom and gesturing to the window.

"After you."

Harry threw a leg over his broomstick and took flight from the window, Ron following closely after him. They took a lap or two around the tower—mostly for the sheer fun of it, because they definitely didn't need to get acclimated to being on a broom anymore, not when they had been flying for as long as they had. They made their way halfway to the gate when Ron pulled alongside his best friend and made an important point.

"Hermione and Sirius are going to want in on this," he shouted over the howling of the wind.

Despite his better judgment, Harry had been trying to avoid bringing Hermione in on their raid. She seemed to be dealing remarkably well, but she was still sheltered inside the walls of Hogwarts. Perhaps it was callous to talk about Hermione being an emotional liability, it didn't stop the thought from occurring to him. He wasn't really all that worried about her putting the mission at risk—not when she was the best damn witch he knew—but instead he worried more about her getting hurt, about her freezing up when she laid eyes on the men who had attacked her.

But in the end, Ron was right. She would want in on it, and Sirius would too. And, yeah, they deserved to be there.

"They're in the hospital wing," he answered, which was essentially the same as saying, "We should have grabbed two more brooms on the way out."

They took off towards the hospital wing, only to arrive and find that the windows were closed—a logical choice given the temperamental weather. Ron peeked inside, knocking quietly to get their attention—only to notice something that he hadn't noticed before.

"Hermione and Sirius are in the same bed," he hissed at Harry, as if his friend—who had been right beside him the whole time—hadn't seen the exact same thing.

"They are," Harry answered, still knocking on the window.

"H-he's holdin' her, mate."

"Yes, he is."

"That's…a new development," Ron finally sputtered, completely at a loss for words. His face flushed bright red, and his ears were well on their way to matching.

"Be careful, mate. You'll fall off your broom," Harry teased, tapping on the window again. Finally, after a moment or two, Sirius pushed the window open and they flew inside.

"What are you doing?" Sirius asked in a whisper. Hermione still appeared asleep in bed.

"We couldn't wait until morning. We're going to find Yaxley and Dolohov. Are you coming?" Harry asked shortly, his voice low to keep from disturbing Hermione.

Sirius looked over his shoulder at where Hermione was lying curled up in bed with the sheets tucked up to her chin and her hair tousled around her face. Waking her up would be the right thing to do—it was what he should do—but he couldn't bring himself to do it, not when she ran this risk of getting hurt. She would be willing to risk that, but he wasn't. Maybe when he was younger, before he had spent time beyond the veil, he would have woken her up, but not today. Not now.

Sometimes people do the wrong things for the right reasons, he told himself as he climbed on the broom and flew out the window—making sure to latch it shut behind him as he followed Ron and Harry to their destination.

As soon as they were off of Hogwart's grounds, they landed and stuffed the brooms into a small bag—the same one that Hermione had carried when they were wandering in the woods all those years ago—and tucked the bag into the pocket of Harry's coat. Apparating would be faster and easier, and safer besides.

"This is where we're going," Ron pointed out on the map that he had brought from their room.

"We've got no idea about the building or about what we're going into," Harry added.

"So it's business as usual?" Sirius remarked, a sly grin hiding any feelings of nervousness.

"I'll go first, then you two follow," Harry ordered. He didn't leave time for them to argue with him before there was a loud pop and he was gone. Ron and Sirius waited a full minute before joining him in front of what appeared to be an old shack at the edge of a small town. Like the place where they had found Hermione, it was old and run down—and exactly the kind of place that no one would want to go into.

They quickly did a sweep around the outside of the house and found no traces of either people or spellwork to keep intruders out. Just as a precaution, they cast a series of antiwarding spells before heading inside.

Someone had been staying in the house, that much was obvious, and whoever was living there had clearly been a death eater. Most of the cabinets and closets had been cleaned out, but they found traces of dark arts supplies. Most of them would appear harmless to any muggle who wandered inside—not that it would matter, because any muggle who wandered inside more than likely wouldn't wander back out. As a team, they worked through each room on the ground floor and found nothing. Upstairs was equally as empty.

"We could wait it out," Sirius suggested.

"They didn't leave much behind," Harry countered. "They're probably not coming back here. Otherwise, they would have left something. People don't just carry all of their stuff with them all the time."

"So what are we supposed to do?" Sirius snapped in frustration. As soon as the words were passed his lips, he regretted them. His godson was trying to find the men who hurt Hermione, and he was trying to do it the right way. As much as it pained him to think about it, Sirius had been out of practice for quite some time, and Harry skills had only gotten better. Sirius was no longer in a position to be giving orders and taking charge, which was all the more frustrating for him.

"I'll have someone monitor this place just in case they do return. Ron and I will stay at Hogwarts and we'll continue tracking the mail that Yaxley and Dolohov's kids are sending. They'll make a mistake, and when they do, we'll get them," Harry said.

"And what of Hermione? What's she to do while we're sitting around doing nothing?"

"We're not doing nothing. We're being patient. Hermione knows all about patience."

"She may, but I don't!"

"You're going to have to learn," Ron butted in, effectively ending the argument before it could really get started. "And we've all got things to be doing right now. Harry will go back to the Ministry and get someone to watch this place. Sirius, you and I are going to go back to Hogwarts and keep an eye on things there."

Both Harry and Sirius took a moment to stare at Ron in shock, astounded and impressed. Then they both complied.

"I'll be back at Hogwarts as soon as I've made the arrangements," Harry said before popping off to London.

Sirius and Ron apparated back to the edge of Hogwarts's grounds, only to realize once they had gotten there that they had left their brooms with Harry. This turned what would have been a short flight into a longer walk, both of them deep in thought for the entire duration of it.

The sun had reared its ugly head over the horizon and Sirius knew that this meant Hermione had awoken without him. He also recognized that this meant he would be dealing with an incredibly angry woman when he finally found his way back to the hospital wing. Alive and angry was far better than dead, because no one can be happy—or angry or sleepy or anything—when they're dead. He had kept her safe.

Ron went straight to his dormitory to get ready to face another day of following snobby Slytherins around all day. He was overjoyed at the prospect, and it showed in the slow drag of his feet and the noncommittal grunt that he gave Sirius when they parted ways.

Now, Sirius hadn't been expecting a welcome with open arms, but he wasn't at all prepared for what awaited him when he walked into the hospital wing. Hermione was sitting on the window seat, flipping through a book that was nearly as big as she was. When she glanced up and saw him, she didn't acknowledge him. Instead, she went back to looking at the book—flipping through the pages at a more furious rate than before.

"Hermione? Are you alright?"

"I'm perfectly alright. Why wouldn't I be? It's not like you went gallivanting off without me," she answered, her voice cold.

"I wouldn't call it gallivanting—"

"No, I would call it you running off after the men who hurt me and leaving me behind. Isn't it?"

He couldn't bring himself to agree, but his silence was answer enough in itself.

"Exactly. You went running off after them and left me here because you think I'm too fragile to handle it. Even after what I told you, you still think that seeing them is going to drive me mad."

"That isn't why I left you here," Sirius started, but Hermione didn't give him a chance to finish. She rose from the windowsill and stood in front of him, staring him down.

"No? Then it must have been because you wanted to keep me safe. Is that it?" she asked. The tone in her voice made it perfectly clear that she found the idea offensive and distasteful.

Again, his slice was answer enough.

"I know that they hurt me, but I'm a grown woman, Sirius Black. I am not going to shatter into a thousand tiny pieces if I see them, and I'm not going to break if I get into a fight. You _know _this," she said, now clearly more frustrated than angry. She had been trying for weeks to prove to him that she wasn't broken, that she was well on her way to being whole again, and he didn't seem to understand that. He didn't see the strides she was making.

"I do. And I know that you can protect yourself, and I know that you're not going to break into tiny pieces. I just…it—"

"Frightens you?" she finished for him.

"Exactly."

"And how do you think I feel when you boys go running off without me? What happens when one day someone comes and finds me to tell me that my boys won't be coming back? If there's a fight to be had, I want to be there."

Sirius could see the intensity of her convictions written in every line of her face, in the way that her arms were crossed over her chest, and the way that she was standing tall, holding her ground. A bolt of shame went through him as he saw her standing there like that. How could he have ever thought she would get hurt. Like this, with her strength and determination, no one could hurt her. No one would dare get close enough to try.

"Now, what did you find?" she asked, gesturing for him to come sit by her on the windowseat.

"Not much, he admitted with a heavy sigh. "It looked like they had packed up and left by the time we got there. Harry is arranging for someone to watch the house, but he's fairly sure that they're not coming back."

"So, what's the plan from here?"

"Ron and Harry are going to stay here, keep monitoring and tracking the brat's mail, and wait for them to make a mistake."

"So we're back where we started." She didn't look very pleased and Sirius could hardly blame her. After a moment he could tell that she stopped thinking about how frustrating it was that they were back at the beginning, and started to think of ways to make progress. She had a problem to work on, and she began to focus on finding a solution.

She stayed in that same thoughtful mindset all through breakfast and lunch. During her classes, she seemed to put whatever she was considering on the backburner and focused on teaching the classes, though he did see her rush to her desk and makes some notes every now and again. At lunch, she ate her food in silence and listened halfheartedly to the report that Ron was giving on the young Slytherins. Harry arrived just as Ron was telling them about Yaxley's adventure in the girl's bathroom.

"I've got someone watching the place," he said quietly, though it was clear from his tone that he didn't think it would do much good. "Sirius, you and I will take over for Ron following the kids. Ron—"

"I'll be in the owlery."

Hermione taught the rest of her classes with no trouble and when she arrived in the Great Hall for dinner, she looked positively excited.

"I've got a plan," she announced once they had all been seated. None of them spoke, but instead waited for her to speak. "We'll use me as bait. I'll make a big fuss about moving back to my flat. The children will tell their parents, and when Yaxley and Dolohov show up to finish what they started, we'll be waiting for them."

"Absolutely not," Sirius said flatly.

"Terrible plan," Ron agreed.

"Very unsafe," Harry commented.

"And the best plan that we have," Hermione said, stopping any more of their objections. "It would allow us to control the environment and have people in place. It's a perfect plan."

"It is a good plan," Harry commented, resigned.

"You're right," Ron agreed.

"I still don't like it," Sirius said flatly.

"Well, that's what we're going to do. You don't have to like it."

Her determination was obvious and Sirius was once again struck with the notion that she was just too strong and too determined for this plan to go any other way than the one she had in mind. She was beautiful like this. So no, he didn't have to like it, but he would go along with it, because he had to keep her safe.


End file.
